


Electric Night

by Merixcil



Series: Advent Fics 2019 [7]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Drugs, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merixcil/pseuds/Merixcil
Summary: Bruce follows up on a tip about an illegal rave
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Series: Advent Fics 2019 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916806
Kudos: 13





	Electric Night

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: [Sound of the Underground by Girls Aloud](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I8oHHGxrNus)  
> 

Bruce is broadly of the opinion that all warehouses in Gotham that are not in confirmed legal usage should be raised to the ground just as quickly as the dynamite can be assembled to do so. And even then, the leftovers ought to be under the highest scrutiny of the GCPD. In a city with so many high profile career criminals looking to make a statement with their next illegal venture, the opportunities offered by a large, empty building are typically too much for them to pass up, and they’re all far enough off Batman’s beat for it to be tricky to stay abreast of who is currently scoping them out. Sometimes he misses the simplicity of organised crime. It was seedier than dealing with supervillains, but at least the mob never banked on him coming after them.

Bruce has been considering expanding his regular patrol route to better cover the hangars around the docks in particular, but he’s loathe to leave himself so isolated down at the far south of the city if he doesn’t know he’s needed there. Knowing his luck, everyone would shift their movements north to the straight between Uptown and the mainland, just past Amusement Mile, if only to spite him. Which would leave him stranded on the far side of town, with a good two kilometres to grapple through before getting anywhere close to his car. He’s not sure he can risk it, not until he’s had the chance to have a good long talk with the rest of the Family about how best to split the new responsibility. 

Such talks will have to wait till after Christmas. Tonight, Bruce is neither near Amusement Mile, nor the Downtown docks. Instead, he’s in the East End, staring down the door of a former meat packing plant that's found new life as a down and out storage facility, listening to the pulsating bass emanating from within. It’s nowhere near any residential units, everything round here is either plucky startups snapping up cheap real estate or small businesses so well established they may as well have grown up out of the Earth. 

Normally, Bruce wouldn’t worry too much about an illegal rave. If he thinks he might be able to get hold of a supplier of one of the nastier designer drugs percolating through Gotham’s underground, Matches Malone might pay the place a visit, but Batman isn’t really in the business of breaking up parties. He wasn’t even supposed to be in this part of town tonight, having agreed to help Gordon keep a lid on the less sanguine shoppers in the Diamond District, following three serious Black Friday incidents that have gotten the Mayor’s office on high alert. But an hour ago, Selina of all people had come through on his secure line to let him know that he might want to keep an eye on this place. 

Selina almost never tips him off, unless she wants him in a completely different part of the city from her or it’s serious. Bruce has assumed the first too many times to risk it, so here he is. 

He’s looked for other entry points, and found nothing but minuscule windows that he might be able to get through unrobed but are an impossibility in the Batsuit. It’s through the front door or nothing at all. 

The front door, which has a wide smile, bearing a set of razor sharp teeth, graffitied on it in fluorescent pink and green. It doesn’t have to mean anything, but it doesn’t exactly set Bruce at ease. 

Before he can get the door himself, it explodes open, belching out a pair of girls wearing entirely too few clothes for the sub zero weather and obviously under the influence of something stronger then alcohol. By some miracle, they manage to hold each other up, stumbling right into Bruce like they hadn’t even noticed him there. They collapse against him in a fit of giggles, staring up at him with dark, vacant eyes. 

“Oo, it’s Batman.” One hiccups. “Hiya, Batman. You here for a good time?”

Pupils wide, speech not slurred but slow, they can probably stand if they don’t have to contend with any further obstacles on their way. An ambulance probably isn’t necessary. Bruce sets them upright and gets out of their flight path. “Go home.”

They laugh, and continue on their way, and the door of the warehouse hangs open, the dry ice inside so thick that it’s spilling out into the night. Inside, the lights are caught in the smoke, exploding outwards in pools of colour that more or less mask the bodies. But there must be people in there, Bruce can hear them, whooping and cheering and laughing and laughing and-

Ah. It wouldn't be like Bruce to be lucky enough for things to not turn sour. 

As soon as Bruce is inside, he realises that the dry ice is not dry ice. One gulp of the stuff and he’s left with a metallic aftertaste on the back of his tongue, and a funny sweet scent clogging up his nose. 

Funny, literally. Bruce giggles and reaches for the gas mask at his hip, but inside the gauntlets of the Batsuit, his fingers are so ungainly that he can’t get a good grip on it. He knows this stuff, even if it’s weaker, and cut with something pleasant enough that the overall effect is one worth seeking out. By the time he gets the cap off the belt compartment that holds the gas mask, he’s gotten a few good lungful’s of the diluted Joker toxin inside him and the air over the heads of the crowd appears to be shimmering. 

People are talking to him, talking about him. He is a welcome interloper here, everyone loves Batman. Maybe they think he’s the real deal, or maybe they don’t, but there are hands clapping him on the back, faces smiling up at him, people beckoning him forward to dance. 

Bruce doesn’t dance, as a rule, but the music sounds good. His body starts to move without permission, trying to see if he can find the rhythm. 

His fingers slip off the gas mask and it falls to the floor. By the time Bruce realises, it’s lost to the fog, to the dance. 

People are smiling, smiling, smiling. He is smiling. He can’t see the ceiling or the walls and as far as he’s concerned, this could go on forever. 

“What’s your name?” Someone asks. 

“Batman.” He replies. “I’m Batman.”

“Sure you are.”

“It’s true.”

If someone asks him to prove it, he doesn’t know that he’d have the presence of mind to say no.

“What have we here?” This time the voice is familiar, like the smell of ozone after a lightning strike, or the cadence in Alfred’s voice when he’s gearing up to express his disappointment. Bruce shudders, stepping backwards till his back hits the chest of someone taller than him, someone slimmer. They catch him before he falls and he laughs, the sound coming out high and strange. 

They are laughing with him. Bruce knows that voice. “Hello Joker.”

“Hello darling.” Joker snickers. Bruce can’t see him, but he can see the pale hands locking over his chest. “Would you like to dance?”

He shouldn’t. Dancing isn’t him. But he’s dancing anyway. Dancing with Joker is bad, but Joker’s here anyway. Bruce shakes his head, trying to dispel the fog, and his vision fractures into kaleidoscope patterns that don’t make sense and don’t have to. 

Bruce shrugs, tries to stand on his own but Joker pulls him back. He grins. “What the hell, it’s Christmas.”

Joker laughs and it sounds like music, the music blares and it sounds like laughing. Bruce is whirled around, whether on his own or at someone’s volition is not entirely clear. But he is here, he is present. Hands at his waist, breath hard in his ear. 

It’s nearly Christmas, another year gone. They should do this more often. 

“There you go, Bats.” Joker hisses. 

Bruce doesn’t know where he’s going, just that he couldn’t stop himself if he tried. 

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted as part of a multi chaptered 'advent fics' fic that I'm trying to split up. If you think you've read it before, you probably have
> 
> Comments on the previous posting of this fic (just ask if you want me to remove yours) include:
> 
> >Kay: Please write more...uhhhhh it's so good!!!  
> >Merixcil: I always strive to write a whole bunch! Probably won't be continuing this though - sorry
> 
> >Gshsh: Will there be more to this specific installment ;-;  
> >>Merixcil: The point of these is to think them up and write them on the spot! I may wind up using concepts from them again but am unlikely to write any direct sequels or follow ups
> 
> >48eyesand32teeth1sharptongue: this was awesome!!!  
> >>Merixcil: Thank you!!!!
> 
> >dawngloaming: Brilliant concept of a Joker party drug..  
> >And high Batsy's reaction to Joker himself!  
> >>Merixcil: Thank you!


End file.
